


Photography

by beyondcanon



Series: Photography [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 16:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1611059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyondcanon/pseuds/beyondcanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn is a photographer. For one afternoon, Rachel is her model.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Photography

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my [prompt challenge](http://beyondcanon.tumblr.com/tagged/ma%27s-prompt-challenge) on Tumblr. Some stories will be posted on AO3; this is one of them.
> 
> By the structure of the challenge, each part of the Photography series is a standalone, complete installment. I might add more to it at anytime; I suggest you subscribe. :)

Rachel hasn’t crossed your mind in years.

Glee seems to be worlds away now. You’ve remade yourself, and you left Lima behind.

But Lima comes back; your past always catches up.

You stare at the message on your phone, your assistant’s list of actresses chosen for your next photo shoot and Rachel is there.

You wonder if it’s too late to give up, to tell Vogue you don’t want it anymore. Your Urban Rhythms exposition is doing just fine, on national tour, you’re booked for the semester already; you don’t need the exposure of re-doing your own work with famous Hollywood people, you can survive without it.

But it’s Vogue, and you’re also a woman of word.

You sigh and confirm the schedule.

—-

Michael Fassbender becomes The Wait, leaning against the back of an alley. Meryl Streep is Abandonment, sitting alone on a park bench at night. Lupita Nyong’o turns into Scream, seen from outside a window. Joaquin Phoenix, inside a moving bus, becomes Hope.

It’s all fine as long as it’s everyone else.

You’re not scared of Hollywood. They seem to enjoy how you have no fucks to give about them, and more than a few have flirted with you the last couple years.

You’re far from being an uptight doll now.

—-

You watch Rachel from a distance, first.

You have wondered about this moment, how it would be to meet again reborn from the ashes; about the gaps and silences between you and if you’d be able to reconnect.

Rachel’s hair is a little shorter, and her face is a little thinner, very fitting with the 30-something woman she is now.

Rachel laughs at something your assistant has said, and her laugh is just the same: like a breath of fresh air.

No wonder she’s Hollywood’s sweetheart.

—-

She knows her photographer is Quinn, obviously.

What she is not expecting is… this.

She locks eyes with Quinn from a distance, and she’s thankful for the opportunity it gives her to take a good, long look.

Quinn’s wearing tight jeans, black boots, and a loose, sleeveless top with a cleavage both deep and shameless. Quinn’s wearing her hair short and spiked, a variation from her Nationals haircut all those years back.

Quinn’s got a colorful tattoo, like watercolor painting, on her shoulder, going down some of her arm.

Quinn’s got red lipstick, bright and inviting, and she’s smirking at Rachel.

Quinn is right in front of Rachel, and she still smells like sandalwood.

“Oh. My. God.” Rachel says, getting up from the couch and pulling Quinn in for a hug.

—-

Rachel grabs your hand and pulls you in for a long hug.

You remain shocked for a moment before you remember to hug her back. She’s changed her perfume, but it’s still delicious, and she’s still the perfect fit when she’s pressed against you.

You hold her tight against you, arms around her waist; she’s got her arms around your neck, a hand sinking in your hair.

This is closer than it should be, and you haven’t seen each other in a decade, but you hide your face in her neck and you take a deep breath anyway. You close your eyes.

You have missed her.

—-

Quinn has got Rachel shivering, her skin crawling. God, she’s missed Quinn. It’s frustrating how life takes you apart from people you swore would always be there.

She grabs Quinn hair to makes sure she is really there, flesh and bone. “You look stunning,” she whispers, because she isn’t blind.

Quinn breaks the hug enough to look in Rachel’s eyes; her hands are still on the small of Rachel’s back, and their hips are still very much joined. “I bet you didn’t see it coming,” she says with a smirk.

“I did not you had it in you,” Rachel answers, tracing Quinn’s tattoo, fascinated by it.

She can’t explain this need to touch Quinn.

—-

Your cheeks feel warm, and Rachel is a sight for sore eyes.

You feel your chest tighten and expand, like it does every time you’ve ever seen her.

If you weren’t so confused back then… Maybe things would have turned out a little different.

“Let’s begin, shall we?” You ask her. You don’t know who reaches for who, but your hands remain intertwined as you walk towards the scenario. “You’re going to be Pulse. It’s a series of photos, so it’s going to take more than you’re probably used to.”

She nods. You make her stand on a black, wet scenario, droplets of water running down the fake walls. You check the original picture on your Mac to make sure your assistant has got the angle right.

“Give me energy, Rachel.” You grab your camera and place its leather strap around your neck. “Soon you’ll be doing break dancing, so give me danger and energy.”

—-

Rachel stares into the camera and lets Quinn do her thing.

Quinn had always been so gorgeous and unattainable, tripping into mistakes everyone could see coming, pushing people away.

Maybe Glee had been training wheels for everyone else, too, until they learned to live in their own skin.

Quinn’s assistant controls the lighting on the back and makes some annotations. Quinn kneels on the ground, camera clicking, and Rachel gives her strong and dangerous.

It’s exhilarating to have Quinn’s attention like this. How many times could Rachel say Quinn had stopped at looked at her and only her?

—-

The dancers arrive and you take a breath of relief.

It’s not just you and Rachel anymore.

You and your assistant guide the four dancers into their first positions. You can’t avoid touching Rachel’s shoulder to bring her to the center of the circle, her elbow to adjust her arm. You catch your breath.

The four men start dancing around Rachel as you take pictures in a frenzy. You repeat the process when you’re outside the circle; Rachel’s gaze follows you.

You allow them to take a quick break, stretch themselves. You’ve lost notion of time, but they deserve a break before the next photo. “You’re doing great,” you whisper in Rachel’s ear.

—-

Quinn’s whispering does things.

She takes a deep breath before sitting on the couch. She doesn’t know why it means so much to her.

Quinn gives water to the sweaty dancers, chatting with them; Rachel looks at her and tries to understand.

Maybe she’s still longing for Quinn’s approval, for any kindness she might throw Rachel’s way.

Rachel bites her lip as she stares. Time has done wonders to Quinn.

—-

You catch Rachel staring right at you.

You’re in the middle of a sentence; you clear your throat before proceeding.

You need to put this behind. It’s just an afternoon, it’s just a job. You’ve got your life, and it doesn’t have Rachel in it.

You carry the tray with empty glasses to the table by the left wall. Before you turn back, you feel someone behind you; you just know it’s Rachel.

“You have another one,” she says, touching where your back meets your neck.

Her thumb runs on your skin and you place your hands on the table, looking down, to let her touch everything she wants. “I do,” you say quietly.

She pulls your top down with one hand, the other palming the small of your back. You try to keep your thoughts clean.

“It is a bird?” She leans in some more; you can feel her warmth right behind you. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you answer, a little breathless. You don’t say the tattoo means freedom.

—-

Rachel knows she’s crossing a line.

She doesn’t know how to stop it. Seeing Quinn is like remembering, like waking up.

She wishes she could have witnessed Quinn become this amazing woman.

After they resume the shoot, most of the work is hers. She likes how Quinn holds her waist and touches her legs to adjust her pose, the focused face she makes as she touches Rachel gently.

It’s supposed to be a handstand caught midair.

Quinn’s biceps are toned and strong as she shows Rachel the pose.

She palms Rachel’s inner thigh to raise it higher, holds Rachel’s chin to make her stare to the right side – it’s a strenuous position, but Rachel works it the best she can.

It’s the shortest session, because Rachel cannot breakdance and she can go only so far in faking it.

Quinn declares it over, congratulating everyone, and stretches a hand to Rachel.

She pulls Rachel up swiftly, giving her the smile of a work well done. Rachel bumps against her, but Quinn’s hand on her waist give her steady ground.

Quinn’s sandalwood scent is everywhere; Rachel feels dizzy.

—-

The sun is setting; the studio’s large windows show a vision of red.

You and your assistant look the photos on the computer’s large screen. They still need Photoshop retouching, of course, but there are several great ones in this bunch.

You’re very satisfied.

Rachel comes to you, now dressed as herself in a tight black dress and black pumps. Your assistant looks at the two of you and understands the cue to leave.

It’s just you and Rachel.

She grabs her handbag. “Can I call you sometime?”

“Of course.” You nod, resting against the window.

She comes closer. “You don’t have, if you don’t want to.”

You smile and hold her hand. “Don’t worry.”

You really, really want to kiss her.

—-

Rachel doesn’t know why she feels so tentative.

She doesn’t know anything about Quinn’s life. She may just fade away the second Rachel walks through the door, and they might never see each other again.

Quinn squeezes Rachel’s hand. “The exposition should arrive here in New York in about a month. I’ll be at the opening.”

Rachel smiles. “I’ll be there.”

“If you’re ever in San Francisco or London, hit me up.” She squeezes Rachel’s hand and lets it go.

Rachel’s still hesitant.

Quinn grabs her messenger bag, a leather piece cracked from the use, and walks them out.

—-

You stand in front of the building, unsure of what to say.

Luckily, this photo shoot has been kept a secret and there’s no paparazzi around.

Rachel looks at you, searching for something to say. You hold back from inviting her to dinner. The expectation of something that’s not going to happen will torture you; you know it.

She can’t offer what you want. “I’ll see you around, then,” you say.

She’s still looking at you, still expecting. She holds on to the hem of your shirt. You look at her hand and you look at her lips as she licks them.

You’d be kissing her if you just leaned in.


End file.
